


Wanderer

by CatNerdsOut



Series: Wanderer [1]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, One-sided Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg, Post-Canon, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatNerdsOut/pseuds/CatNerdsOut
Summary: His old life sometimes felt like a dream.  Free from Hala, free from the Collective and the Intelligence he examined every possible thread his life could take, turning each option over in his mind.  The life he wished for seemed as impossible as returning to what was.  So he wandered.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Series: Wanderer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901671
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	Wanderer

Ultimately it was Ronan’s failure that overshadowed his own.His team was fractured and Vers lost, but Ronan had lost a warship at the Terran’s hands and failed to bomb a planet barely out of the Stone Age.By the time his craft limped into Hala’s atmosphere, Ronan’s defeat was so well known amongst the military that Yon-Rogg’s return was barely acknowledged by his superiors.Even in defeat, the Accusers would not be eclipsed by Starforce.It grated at him, even while he was relieved he had additional time to gather his thoughts.He could almost reflect on the days following Torfa without his heart racing when he finally received orders to report to the Supreme Intelligence for debriefing.

He stood on the razor’s edge as the Supremor poured over the events of C-53.It was done, he thought staring at his feet unwilling to look upon own face twisted in disappointment.He had delivered the message.There was no further use for such a failure.

“What an interesting development,” the AI mused while flicking through his memories.“You’ve had quite the ordeal.”

Yon-Rogg’s eyes widened.That was not his voice.He would no longer look up and see the Intelligence wearing his own face.His jaw tightened and his gaze remained stubbornly fixed down.

“I failed you,” he hissed between clenched teeth.He failed _her_.He would not look upon that face.

“Perhaps too much was asked of you.”

He felt ill.There was nothing left.For most of his life he had heard praise for his triumphs and derision for his failures, but not this.Pity and consolation from the Supremor was reserved only for the weak, an indulgence in youth that became a condemnation with age.He had not heard it since the AI wore his mother’s face.Only soft words for a young child that might be built up and molded.Or a failure they had no further use for.

As the simulation faded away he chanced a single glance to see her face, curiosity driving him more than anything else.She would never see him again.

Nor, apparently, would the Supreme Intelligence.

He was quietly demoted.His surviving team transferred to other groups with more worthy commanders who followed their orders and did not lose control of their emotions or their charges.He could not be trusted in combat, but perhaps he could train the youngest at the Academy, those recently sent from their families where such compassion, such emotion might better serve the Empire.

He tried to succeed at first.But the words and stories felt hollow.What use were their histories and stories if the first winds of doubt could snap Vers’ resolve in two?With each passing day with the students he felt more and more like each breath was a lie.Is this what she felt like when confronted with uncertainty?

He began to question.Minor things at first, silent misgivings born of cynicism after reading the after action reports from Torfa and C-53.Small truths concealed by bold lies.But as his security clearances slowly fell away he began to doubt more.How much that he heard each day was a lie?If they were a more honest people would Vers still be there?Were their crimes the same as the Skrulls?Were they worse?

He was tumbling into blasphemy, adrift and alone and utterly unused to being the one questioning his people.A corner of his mind chided his weakness, demanding he prostrate himself before the Supreme Intelligence and confess all his sins.Vers’ voice whispered in the silence. _They lied to you too._

The death of his career came as quietly as its fall.When he could no longer fake conviction in his answers to wide-eyed questions he left the Academy.No one stopped him.He doubted they cared.He was the last fragment of a period better left forgotten.For all that the Collective preached unity, they also demanded conformity and he no longer fit into his own role.

He no longer fit into his own _life_.

The thought came unbidden as he descended the Academy steps a final time.He imagined himself launching into the air and flying far away beyond the reaches of Kree space.The fantastical thoughts always reminded him of her.He couldn’t fly, he had never been on his own, and he never saved anyone.Not really.

But the thought of fleeing Hala and setting off for distant stars had its own rebellious appeal, and the idea germinated into a plan as his discontent festered.The decision was made with surprising rapidity and he managed to close off the last portions of his life with minimal fuss and board a transport off world.His family protested of course, but he had long accepted his new role as the disappointment of the family; a far cry from what he once was which bothered him less than he expected it to.When they asked what he was going to find out there wandering beyond the edges of the Empire, he had no answer.

Maybe he would see her out there.

He wondered what she would think of him now.No star.No uniform.Was he even the same man she once knew?

 _No_.Her voice whispered.

Once when he was very young, he remembered returning home in tears after some of the blue-skinned children called him pink-blood.Throughout his childhood he wished he had been born with blue skin, but as he drifted from system to system, he was happy for the anonymity.No one paid him any mind among the throngs of races.His plain appearance became its own type of armor protecting him from notice.He stopped shaving for a time and was utterly indistinguishable from his former self.As long as he didn’t bleed, no one would identify him as Kree.Occasionally he remained in one place for a time, taking odd jobs or working as protection for shop keepers.Mercenary work left a bad taste in his mouth and he only tried it once.It was unfortunate since that single job paid better than all the preceding ones.

In the quiet moments traveling to the next far-flung planet or in the dark as his breathing slowed and sleep fought to claim him, he sometimes thought on his last meeting with the Supreme Intelligence.He wasn’t certain how he felt about his deity wearing the face of the woman who overpowered it.The Multitude embodied the collective wisdom of all Kree.How could a god so misjudge a Terran?How different would his life be if he had protested the patchwork of lies fed to her?Was it the Supremor’s failure or his own?

He thought about contacting her.Would she even receive it?Or acknowledged it if she did?Was her extension still intact or was it cast aside like every other aspect of her former identity?Once he was halfway through keying in her old address before throwing the gauntlet onto the floor.It was far easier to imagine the scenario play in his mind than have reality intrude and he was unsure the tattered remains of his dignity could survive the onslaught. 

With every new place he searched for word of her, or even of the Skrulls.Usually his searching was fruitless.Occasionally he found echos of where she had been.She had been absent from his life almost as long as she had been a fixture in it, but he still felt caught in the aftershocks from where she had been.The universe called her by a new name but he could only think of her as Vers.He chastised himself, though his heart still thrilled at her mere mention and he greedily consumed stories about her exploits even though he suspected most were at least exaggerated and more likely outright fabrications.

Kree were not the sort for speaking of feelings.Through their actions they were judged and through their actions they showed their resolve.He had always been proud of her, but had only told her once.Had he always loved her or did he start the moment she was gone?He thought it had all begun that day by the lake and he turned every moment over in his mind with a fixation bordering on obsession.

_A Kree apart from the Collective risks madness._

Childhood lessons from his father flitted through his thoughts in the quiet.He certainly didn’t consider himself mad.In truth, he felt no more isolated as a lone wanderer than he did in the months following his return from C-53.And without peers to compete with for acclaim, he could only judge his present self against his past.He liked to think she would be proud of him even if his family couldn’t be.

He wondered if she was lonely too.

His entire life was punctuated with lessons about the common good.Though reserved, the Kree were a social people and community bonds held strong.Some would argue that exile was a worse punishment than death, at least in death one could join the Collective.Maybe she was happy, surrounded by friends.Given her boundless talent for making them, he suspected that was true.She probably didn’t even consider herself Kree beyond her biology and the warnings to beware of lone Kree meant nothing to her.He wondered if he should worry that those proverbs meant less and less to him now.Maybe the warning about insanity consuming the isolated Kree was just another lie.

His old life sometimes felt like a dream.Free from Hala, free from the Collective and the Intelligence he examined every possible thread his life could take, turning each option over in his mind.The life he wished for seemed as impossible as returning to what was.So he wandered.

On an orbital station at the edge of the Milky Way, he decided maybe he should stop running, at least for a time.The recent years spent chasing Vers’ ghost yielded no news of her.She was either far beyond where he could follow or a ghost herself. After wandering aimlessly, he had one final destination to in mind to visit, but the trip would be expensive with few ships passing within a dozen light years of the system. It would take time to accumulate enough money. Maybe after he could return to Hala, or at least feel at peace enough to find a new home and cease his constant wandering.He held little hope of either but the plan remained, and his next berth fixed.

If nothing else, his training could always be called upon to replenish his funds, the need for protection ever present regardless of his destination.Sometimes when he stayed in one location for long stretches, the occasionallocal would work up the courage to ask for lessons, offering up whatever trade they could as compensation.It was satisfying work and he didn’t have to spout the now uncomfortable doctrines like he did at the Academy.His charges often asked little beyond advice on their stance and form.

After one such lesson he walked through the back alleys towards his small rented room.Upon rounding the corner he saw a Xandarian woman crouched next to a cloaked child.

“You have to do it _now_ ,” the woman’s voice was tense.

“I don’t remember,” the child whined.

“Yes, you do.Just look at me, you can’t be seen like this.”

The child gasped as her eyes fell upon Yon-Rogg, her hood falling back in the commotion.All three froze, eyes wide.

Green skin, pointed ears.After a breath of confusion the reality set in: a Skrull mother and her child, but the child, unused to holding their form for an extended period, had dropped the false face and now struggled to sim back.Years ago his course would be set and he would have reached for his weapon.Now he merely offered to stand guard as the child’s crying quieted.He refused to think too long about the fact he was protecting two Skrulls from others on the station.They were hated by more than just the Kree.

The next morning a Xandarian man with an off-centered nose came to awkwardly thank him for his kindness and discretion towards his wife and child.With equal fumbling Yon-Rogg mentioned there were techniques that might help center the daughter when confronted with stressful situations.And thus he found himself tutoring a Skrull child in Kree meditation.His ancestors would disavow him, but he more wondered after what Vers would think if she knew.

His stay on the station extended indefinitely due to limited transportation, and he gradually fell into tentative friendship with the family.Eventually over a shared meal in their home, a practice rapidly becoming a habit, they felt comfortable enough to ask after his actions on that initial encounter.

“I once knew someone who was a friend to a family of Skrulls and I am trying to honor her actions,” he answered with some reluctance.It was one thing to make peace with the past and another to speak of it.

“Not many consider the Skrulls friends.She must have been remarkable,” the woman wondered.

It was uncomfortable to finally admit that he was Kree.Worse still to confess his past.He shared generalities rather than specifics.It was easier to paint a broad image.His actions still brought shame and doubt years later.

“Our friendship is not so fragile as to break from the truth,” the man said.Yon-Rogg never felt more unworthy.

Once he asked why they were alone, so far away from other pockets of Skrulls.He suspected from their avoidance of the subject that they were scouts of a sort.It did not matter.They were kind people and good friends.Sometimes he imagined they were in communication with the Skrull general and that Vers might hear of him.He never had the courage to ask.

Eventually a transport willing to drop him off at his next destination became available.For the first time since his travels began there was someone to miss him, and he took leave of friends.

“I hope you find your Vers,” the woman whispered as he hugged each one farewell.

“Unlikely, but I should like to see her home world under better circumstances,” Yon-Rogg answered as he headed towards the transport.

Once Minn-Erva said that C-53 smelled wrong.As much as he hoped the years had changed him and his prejudices, his first thought once planetside was that she was right.Everywhere he visited an undercurrent ran: too much plant growth, the faint smell of mud and rot.Even in the desert the smell lingered.

He visited places he thought she might have once been, though the scattered facts about her life left few clues.He wandered from desert to city.He cut his hair, shaved his beard, and though his reflection looked as though no time had passed since his last trip to C-53, he no longer recognized that man.Once he thought men in dark glasses and suits were interested in him.He left in the middle of the night rather than find out.From the city there was one final stop on his pilgrimage before his hired transport was to return.

He wandered to the marsh.The smell grew stronger.

The wooden shack still stood just as it had, though several of the planks had rotted or split.The years had been kinder to him than the aged structure.Or maybe not, he smirked at the thought.

It almost felt as though no time had passed at all.It almost felt a millennial ago.Yon-Rogg wondered what he would have said if it had really been her there in the shack.Would he have told her everything?Would he have defied the Supremor or maintained the falsehood?He liked to pretend he would have abandoned everything to follow her.He knew that was a lie.This place wasn’t even where he had lost her, it was just where he had realized it.This was where he started on his own path.

He stared out the window as the sun climbed higher.Insects buzzed in the rafters and the space grew uncomfortably warm, but still he remained reflecting on all that had happened.It was good it had happened.He was proud of who he was becoming and would not be that person if not for his past.Vers would never know and though that fact might gnaw at him, it changed nothing.The journey was for him and he was pleased with the result.He felt freer than he had in years.

The sharp steps of boots on planks grew louder, rhythmic and in time to a silent cadence.He pretended it was Vers and held his breath waiting for reality to shatter his imaginings.He remained fixed by the window with his eyes trained on the horizon.The door flew open and he heard a woman gasp.He turned towards the door.Reality intruded.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written in years, but I liked the idea of the Kree just letting Yon-Rogg fade away. The deleted scene with the SI showed such a different portrayal from the rest of the movie with someone on the verge of a breakdown, and I thought it would be fun to explore. Thanks for reading!


End file.
